In a world where strength determined worth, and the Gifted walked as gods among mortals, the weak were simply left behind—discarded, dismissed, and forgotten.
No one mourned for the Civilian who died in silence.
No one remembered the child abandoned in a wooden box.
No one questioned the broken voices crying within the void.
And yet…
Amid the silence, a boy breathed.
Not as a warrior. Not as a chosen one.
But as a spark—fragile, fading, and faint.
Born without a Gift. Raised without a name. Cast aside without mercy.
But fate, though cruel, left one kindness behind: a mother.
She was not bound to him by blood, but by something stronger.
Through gentle meals, warm blankets, and words that never left him,
she whispered a truth the world never taught:
> "When you're alone, be strong. Make friends. Be kind. Help others. And never hurt anyone."
That voice—her voice—never left his heart.
And though the world would call him weak…
Though demons would rise, and kingdoms would fall…
Though soul after soul would beg to be heard from within his dreams…
He would rise.
Not because he was born special—
But because someone once looked at him and said:
"You are loved."
This is not the story of a hero born with power.
This is the story of a boy who carried the fragments of the forgotten…
and chose to save them all.